


Whoops-a-Daisy

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Elven Glory, F/M, Mutual Dubious Consent, POV Varric Tethras, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Sex Temple, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Viscount Varric Tethras, sex in a temple, smutquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Varric and Merrill accidentally stumble into Fen'Harel's ancient sex temple and get locked in. There's only one thing to do in the mean time.
Relationships: Merrill/Varric Tethras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Whoops-a-Daisy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barbex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/gifts).



> Happy Smutquisition! <3 <3 Enjoy!

When Varric hears the barrier spring up behind them, he knows they’re in trouble. 

He just doesn’t realize _how_ much trouble they’re in right away. It isn’t until Merrill’s magic fails to open the closed entrance behind him that his chest hair starts to itch. 

“Well, surely there’s a way out.” Merrill sails deeper into the chamber they’ve stumbled into in this forgotten Elven ruin on the ass end of Sundermount. “It would be rather silly to build a room with no way out.”

“Let’s hope the ancient elves didn’t keep an eluvian here as their back door.” 

“Oh,” Merrill utters softly. “That would be unfortunate, yes.” 

Well, if Varric is going to die, he can think of worse company. It’s been a long damn time since he’s let Daisy rope him into her shenanigans. It feels even longer, like the events of the last couple years have aged him a dozen. The chantry explosion, the Inquisition, the Exalted Council…

And now here he is, reluctant Viscount accompanying Daisy as she pokes some elven ruins to see if there’s anything valuable around to stop Chuckles. He wonders how long they’ll have to be trapped before Aveline sends someone to look for him. 

He doesn’t want to admit to himself he’s missed this, missed Merrill. Hell, he didn’t even _notice_ it until the Seeker dragged him out of Kirkwall by the lapels of his coat. But Merrill… 

Well, she’s a sight for sore eyes and her genuine warmth and cheerfulness is a balm for the soul. Everything has changed over the last couple years, but not his Daisy. She’s just as beautiful inside and out as she’s always been. _More_ beautiful, maybe, but he’s getting older. Maybe he’s just finally learned to appreciate the perfectly formed elf in front of him for all her assets. 

“Let’s get some light here, Daisy.” He gestures to the darkness around them. “Take a look around for that back door.” 

She nods and holds out her hand, elegant fingers curling around a beautiful glowing ball of soft, white light. It slowly floats above their head, exposing the room in degrees. It’s circular, obviously, some sort of chamber with what looks like seating for an audience rising above them. 

Varric sees the altars next and curses under his breath. He doesn’t know much, but he knows _one_ altar is usually enough bad news. Six? What in the void did the ancient elves need six altars for? There’s an urn of some sort on one and Varric makes a note to himself not to touch it. 

But the light rises higher, burns a bit brighter as Merrill forces more magic to it, and the next thing he sees makes Varric forget all about the altars and urn. Rising high above them is a large statue of a wolf, staring down its muzzle with a look as inscrutable as Chuckles always was. 

Before he can remark that it looks like there _has_ been a temple to Fen’Harel near Kirkwall the whole time, Varric catches sight of the pristine mosaics and murals on the walls behind it. 

He blinks once. Twice. Then laughs under his breath. “Do you think the Blooming Rose would be interested in some inspiration?” 

“I don’t know where they’d fit such a big statue, Varric.” 

Varric looks up to see Merrill is still staring into the wolf’s face with a look as if she’d scold it for chewing up her rug. He smirks and gestures towards the walls. “I think the paintings are more their speed.” 

“The paintings?” Merrill questions, ripping her eyes away. Those big, beautiful green eyes of hers land on the painting directly behind it. Varric watches her expression shift and change as she realizes she’s staring at what can best be described as an orgy depicted in all it’s explicit Elven glory. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, a deep pink flush spreading from beneath her vallaslin. “Oh my. That is rather dirty, isn’t it?” 

Varric allows her to stare, shellshocked, while he takes in the rest of the paintings ringing the room. They’re all the same style, almost identical to the ones from Skyhold although the subject matter is much more… _uplifting_.

Just like Solas to keep the best secrets about himself close to the chest and stick them with the shitty ones. 

“So what are we looking at, Daisy?” 

“Varric!” she flushes an even more delightful crimson that makes him grin wolfishly. 

“Not the paintings,” he qualifies. “I _know_ what those are.” 

“ _Creators_.” Merrill runs her hand through her short, dark hair and shakes off the shock. “I have heard of… _places_ like these. There are rumors, stories told at _Arlathvhen_ , of temples dedicated to, well…” 

She gestures hopelessly to one lovingly rendered cock drawn in exquisite detail over the stone. 

“If I’d have known there were Elven sex temples, I may have been lured out to see for myself a bit sooner.” Varric is, at the very least, impressed. “Do they always feature the wolf statues?” 

“The legends say that Fen’Harel was… _keen_ on pleasures of the flesh. In fact, when the Dalish wish to invite someone to our beds we often… we often say lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en.”

“Which means?” he asks. 

Daisy carefully continues to examine the figures above them in the murals, seemingly captivated by one in particular that shows a female elf in the middle of a rather interesting sandwich. “Let us dance as the wolves do. It is dirtier than it sounds, I promise.” 

Oh sweet Andraste. If he sees Chuckles again before the world ends, Varric is _never_ letting him live this down. He wonders if his uptight former friend painted this room himself. 

Merrill crosses to the altars, examining the inscription. Just when he thinks she _can’t_ get more flustered, or in fact cuter, she lets out a giggle that rings in the room.

“There are instructions in the stone. This one… well, Isabela called this position the Antivan Plundering.” 

He smirks. “Dwarves call it Deep Roads Diving. It’s a classic.” 

She shoots him a beaming smile over her shoulder. He’s never noticed how plump her lips are. A man could describe them as the kind of kissable lips that look right at home stretched around-

His thoughts screech to a halt. This is _Daisy_ he’s thinking about. And yes, she’s beautiful, but she’s off limits like _all_ his beautiful friends. In fact, he’s never (well, hardly ever) thought of her like that _at all_. Why would he choose this moment, of all moments, to let his eyes fasten on her pert ass in her tight leggings as she bends over to brush dirt off one of the altars. 

He wonders what his fingers feel like in her hair. What kind of little noises she makes when she’s on her way to chasing her pleasure. 

Varric swallows, hard, and tries to focus on the situation at hand. 

He doesn’t think to warn Merrill about the urn perilously close to her elbow. She looks back over her shoulder at him, still flushed. Her mouth opens as if she’s about to ask him a question. “Varric, have you ever thought-” 

She makes a jerky movement he’d almost chalk up to _squirming_ if he didn’t know better. Her pointed elbow crashes into the urn and sends it crashing to the ground where it explodes in a cloud of oddly bright-colored dust and shards of ancient ceramic. Varric swears he can smell something both metallic and heavily floral. 

He crosses the room in a moment, grabbing hold of Daisy and hauling her away from the mess with one arm slung around her waist. “You okay there?” 

Her small, delicate hands find his leather duster and fasten onto it like vines. “Yes,” she answers in a small, but firm voice. “It’s very important we don’t panic.” 

Varric doesn’t like the sound of that. 

“Great,” he grumbles. His arm tightens on Merrill’s waist naturally, pulling her closer. She’s warm against his chest, his face at the perfect height to bury itself in those perfect little tits of hers. He restrains himself, but it takes _far_ too much effort. 

“I think this chamber is enchanted to… well, inspire dirty thoughts.” 

Like Varric needs help with that, especially with Merrill arching into his touch like a cat. Her fingers dance over the leather of his coat, brush against the skin of his chest in a manner that threatens to stoke the embers of desire in his gut into a blazing inferno. 

“And the urn was… well, I think it may have been full of a powder meant to… cause certain reactions.” 

Varric doesn’t want to know. And he does. “What kind of reactions?” 

He’s afraid he already knows. The lightest brush of her fingers over her chest is almost torture. Merrill swallows, hard. “Physical reactions. Of… of the…” 

“Dirty kind?” he asks. 

Varric shifts, spreading his palm over her waist and feeling a shudder go through her body. He doesn’t mean to push her closer until he’s almost touching the fabric of her tunic, but his face is _right there_. He feels like he’s pictured this scenario a hundred times, he _knows_ what to do. 

He holds himself in check, but his body is responding in spite of himself. He can feel his cock stiffening in his pants, swears he can _smell_ her arousal as her eyes go dark. 

“There’s only one thing to do, really,” Merrill says, almost to herself. 

He’s relieved she has a solution. And disappointed. “What’s that?” 

She doesn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. 

Instead, Merrill grabs one of his broad, large hands and raises it to her chest. One second, Varric is scrambling to hold onto the reins of his self control. The next Merrill is whimpering while his fingers act on their own to reverently grab. 

“Varric, you need to fuck me.” 

They can’t. They _absolutely_ can’t, not like _this_. “You need to go to one end of the room,” Varric rasps, even as his hand squeezes Merrill’s breast and she makes a small whimper of pure _need_. “And I’m gonna go to the other side, Daisy, and we’re gonna wait to-” 

“Please,” she chokes on the word. “Varric, I _need_ you.” 

He’s always been helpless before a woman who needs him. It’s a character flaw that’s going to lead to his ultimate downfall. 

“Sweetheart…” His other hand drifts to the curve of her ass without his permission. A moan slips from between her lips as he digs his fingers into her firm flesh. The filthy sound goes right to his cock in an almost painful jolt as it swells to painful hardness. “Daisy, I’m not gonna let myself hurt you-”

“I know,” Merrill whispers fondly. “I’m glad it’s you Varric. I trust you.” 

Just at that moment, her small hands tangle in his chest hair and _pull_. All the air rushes out of his lungs and the last of his fragile willpower flees. 

She whimpers piteously, her legs curling around his waist like she’s trying to climb him. He quickly shifts to hold onto her pert rear with both of his broad hands, enjoying the way she fits so neatly into them. 

Then she drags her center against the trapped length of his cock and Varric growls. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, Daisy. I need to hear it.” 

“I’ve wanted it for so long,” she confesses, and _that’s_ something he’s going to have to think about later. _After_ he fucks her on one of these altars underneath the knowing gaze of the Dread Wolf. 

The altars around them are all at slightly different heights. Upon closer inspection, some of them are even angled in convenient ways. Bless Solas’ perverted soul, Varric supposes. He picks the shortest one, which happens to be _just_ the convenient height to put Daisy’s hips at the level of his. Varric wonders if Solas invited lots of dwarves to his secret orgies back in the day, makes a note to ask. 

It’s not like he’s never considered throwing Merrill down on his desk in the Hanged Man and having his wicked way with her. A blind man couldn’t miss the lithe, powerful grace in her small form, and Varric’s spent years being tormented by her losing nearly every scrap of clothing to Hawke and Isabela in Wicked Grace. 

It feels like a relief to finally, _finally_ , rip that tunic off her skin and bury his face between her tits. She moans and digs her fingers into his hair, whispering something in Elven he doesn’t understand. Varric takes it as encouragement and rubs his stubbled jaw over her sensitive skin until she gasps for breath beneath him.

Only then does he take a nipple between his lips and suck. The sound Daisy makes it everything he’s ever dreamed of while considering this filthy fantasy. Her hips jerk almost off the table, desperate for friction, while he torments her sensitive breasts with the clever, lying tongue that’s been spinning stories for her longer than he wants to admit. 

“You know how long I wanted this, Daisy?” he asks, lightly nipping at the point of her nipple and making her sob in pure need before he switches his attention to the one he’s neglecting. “You’ve been driving me crazy for years.” 

Her legs curl around him, hold him firm in the space between her thighs. “Isabela… she…” Merrill gasps in pleasure as he nips again, arching insistently into his greedy mouth while he hums his satisfaction. “We read your dirty stories. I wanted, I-” 

His fingers trail down to her leggings and tug them down her thighs before he traces over the thin fabric of her smalls. His eyes close and he groans when he finds them _soaked_ with her arousal. 

“This what you wanted, Daisy?” Varric asks, rubbing a smooth circle through the fabric. She cries out a prayer to her Creators, ironic considering their location, while her heels press into the small of his back. “If you’d have asked for a private reading, I’d have given you one.” 

She bucks into his teasing touch and he leads her on a merry chase. He’s always wanted her like this, desperate and feral with need, shaking beneath his fingers. By the time he relents and smuggles them beneath the delicate material, she almost flies off the stone altar. 

“That’s my Daisy,” he coos, watching her writhe and tremble. “I want you to come on my fingers, beautiful. Do you think you can do that for me?” 

He punctuates his request with a light pinch on her swollen nipple. She shrieks, nails raking down his shoulders and chest, making his cock throb dangerously while he circles her clit until she wails his name. It echoes off the walls while she shatters, flushing and thoroughly debauched. Instead of collapsing backwards, she clings to him like he’s an anchor, pulls him toward her until he smothers her moans and cries with his mouth. 

She tastes like crystal grace and lyrium with the bite of deathroot. And Varric, fool that he is, has always liked his beauties with a hint of danger. 

He slides his tongue past hers, treasuring the soft moans she makes as her pleasure fades. Varric doesn’t even mind that, eventually, he’ll probably get an aching neck from this. It would be _very_ worth it. 

Especially to capture that delighted gasp she makes when he slips two fingers into her dripping entrance. 

“Varric-” she pants, breaking away from his lips to stare into his face. Her luminous green eyes are still wild with desire. 

And now that he’s given her one orgasm, he can feel the magic demanding him surrender to his own. He plunges his fingers deep inside her, crooks them until the breath stutters in her chest. “You’re gonna look so good taking my cock, Daisy. Can’t wait to see you with my come dripping down your thighs.” 

She whimpers and Varric can’t wait a second more. She’s pliant and eager as he pulls her to the edge of the altar. Her quick, clever fingers push his duster to the ground just as he rips his own tunic off and tears the sash from his waist. He doesn’t bother with his own trousers, but he does yank Merrill’s off and tosses them unceremoniously to the side. 

He traces her form greedily, memorizing the swirl of ink over her thighs, her ribs, all the secret places he’s wanted to see for so long. If he’s going to hell for this moment, after all, he may as well make sure he remembers it. 

Merrill props herself up on her palms and examines his bared chest with flattering heat in her features.

Then even more flattering surprise when those big eyes of hers drop to the thick cock that’s rock hard for her. She blurts out the question immediately. “Are all dwarves so… wide?” 

He laughs. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I know how to treat a lady.” 

“I know,” Merrill chirps with a small, almost shy smile. Her legs spread in blatant invitation. “I want to see. _Show_ me.” 

He doesn’t have to be asked twice. His fingers sink into her muscled thighs and spread them wide. He rubs the head of his cock against her dripping slit, gathering up her arousal and slicking his cock with it. 

When he presses the thick head of it against her narrow, tight opening, he sees the first flicker of uncertainty in her features. Varric leans in and presses soft, light kisses over her breasts until she moans again, writhing at the teasing touch. 

Only then does he push forward, feeling her tight cunt stretch easily around him. She’s so wet, so turned on, she opens for him easily. Still, he can feel her muscles going tense, hear the choked sound of shock as she takes the thickest cock she’s probably ever seen. 

“That’s it,” Varric rumbles against her soft skin. “You feel so good, Daisy. Maker, you’re gonna ruin me.” 

Her fingers find his hair again, tug at it helplessly. “Ruin me _first,_ Varric.” 

Without thought his hips rock backwards, then surge forward, burying himself in her warm heat. She screams triumphantly to the ceiling and all the dirty pictures surrounding them. He lets it spur him on. 

There’s nothing sweet or soft in this. He’s too far gone, magic and arousal crystallizing into blinding need. Merrill falls backwards onto the stone, clinging to the edge of the altar while he thrusts into her. He feels her clench on him again and distantly hears her scream while she writhes on his cock, but the red haze over his vision is too intense for him to focus on her pleasure.

All he cares about now is fucking her until she can’t walk, until his seed runs down her thighs, covers her breasts. He wants to hear her beg the Creators for mercy as he makes her crest to orgasm after orgasm on his tongue, his fingers, his cock. Wants to fuck her until the only word she knows is _his_ name. 

“Come inside me,” Merrill begs. “Varric _please_.” 

He’s never been able to tell Merrill no. He groans and buries himself inside her, grinding against her as heat rolls up his spine. His own orgasm crashes over him with all the force of an explosion and Merrill moans in filthy satisfaction while he fills her with his seed. 

When he slips from her, his cock is still half hard. 

“How long is this spell gonna last?” he croaks, clutching onto the altar. 

Merrill’s smile is _almost_ predatory. “Until I’m satisfied, of course.” 

Varric huffs a broken laugh and leans in to capture her lips in a softer, sweeter kiss. 

If he’s gonna die, he supposes, there are worse ways to go. 

**Author's Note:**

> May I recommend some more smut? Check out the rest of the ["Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition" Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2021_smutquisition)!


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